


Olympic Tryouts (part 5)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 5)

**Author's Note:**

> this morning has consisted of orphan black and writing part 5. not a bad start to my Sunday. thank you all for reading, it’s still crazy to me that people are taking to this story. y’all are awesome.

Santana follows Brittany inside and straight to the bar, pulling out a stool when she sees Brittany do the same. Brittany orders two shots of Jameson but is otherwise silent, eyes trained on the baseball game on TV. Santana follows the liquor flow in a long arc and splash into each glass, stomach knotted suddenly with nerves. Brittany throws a twenty onto the bar with a mumbled “thanks” then swivels the stool to face Santana. Her expression is determined and Santana waits for her to speak, watching the way Brittany’s brow wrinkles slightly as she thinks of what to say.

“Listen,” Brittany starts, eyes locking with Santana’s. “What happened the past four years happened. I get that you’re pissed about last year but you know what? We both know that game, and all the others we’ve played against each other, could have gone either way. It’s hockey and half the time it’s just dumb luck.” She pauses, pulling the corner of her bottom lip into her teeth and looking away.

At the mention of last season, Santana waits for the anger to hit like an oncoming train, but strangely it never comes. When Brittany turns back, her features have softened noticeably and Santana realizes this is a Brittany she’s never seen. Unarmored Brittany is immediately disarming, but then Santana feels something like trust strike low and dim, spider webbing out of her like cracking ice, opening deeper and longer.

“Our whole lives have been for _this_ ,” Brittany urges, her eyes darting back and forth between Santana’s. “Every 5 am practice, every bruise or sore muscle, every goal, every triumph and every single heartbreak. All of it was to get _here_ , Santana.”

It’s the first time Brittany calls her by her first name and it sort of takes Santana’s breath away.

Brittany pauses and takes a deep breath. “We both know we’re the _best_ players out on that ice and I’m not going to blow this. I’ve worked too hard to blow this. Just think…”

“You’re right,” Santana interrupts, reaching for the shot glass and holding it up between them. She hopes Brittany doesn’t notice the slight shaking of her hand. “Truce?”

Brittany smirks mischeviously, raises her glass and looks Santana dead in the eye before answering. “Truce. USA all the way, bitches.”

They don’t break eye contact until their heads are thrown back, whiskey burning a fire, licking down their throats. Brittany looks at her like she half-expected Santana to cringe or maybe even throw up, but Santana shoots it like a champ and plasters on her best _I-told-you-so_. A deep belly laugh bursts from Brittany’s lips and a wide smile lights up her face as she shoves Santana’s arm lightly. “Ass,” she mumbles.

“You’re not the only whiskey drinker here, Pierce. Maybe not even the best one,” Santana barbs.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Brittany accuses in mock seriousness.

“Let’s save it for when we don’t have 7 am practice.”

"Probably a good idea," Brittany agrees, continuing to chuckle as Santana hears her name from across the bar and Quinn appears, a pack of players filed in behind her.

“We’re headed back, you ready?”

“Yup,” Santana calls out, before turning to Brittany. “Ready?”

Brittany has that look on her face like she’s up to something. “You know it, Lopez. Last one to the dorm is a rotten egg!” she crows, hopping down effortlessly from the stool and taking off for the door like a bat out of Hell.

_____

Tryouts start off the next day with another hour straight of conditioning. Coach Taylor barks out team expectations and rules in between each set of sprints over the sound of 30 players huffing and puffing to catch their breath.

“We’ve got seven months to get down to 20 of you, and believe it or not, who stays and who goes is up to you,” he challenges. Santana pulls her hands off her knees to stand up straight, batting Quinn affectionately with her stick and nodding at her with encouragement as they line up for the next suicide.

When Coach blows the whistle once more, Santana digs in the edge of her skate and takes off forward at top speed, her fatigued and sore muscles screaming in protest as she pushes harder and faster towards the blue line. She turns on a dime, snow spraying up in a flurry and shoots off in the other direction.

Halfway through the set Santana catches another player in her periphery, gaining on her. Santana pushes even harder forward. Brittany gets within a stick length of catching her but Santana finishes just slightly ahead, stopping quickly before her momentum carries her crashing into the boards.

She’s too tired to gloat, but feels Brittany’s eyes on her all the same.

_____

The first time Santana plays on the same line with Brittany happens later in the morning session.

“NO, NO, NO!” Coach Taylor screams, voice booming up into the rafters and bouncing around the rink with an echo. “Pass it! Get it to a POINT, Fabray!” Coach Taylor spends a lot of his time yelling.

Quinn pushes herself up off her knees after the broken play, mouth set in a hard line but eyes on Coach as she skates back into position, shoulders set back resolutely.

“I’ve got you running this play!” he continues, chewing out Quinn. ”Right now all you’re going to ride is the bench! Lopez, get out here!” Coach bellows, motioning Santana to take over for Quinn. “Run it again!”

Santana looks to Brittany and nods, then quickly to Rachel, the third forward on their line, making sure both are ready. All three circle the net at the far end of the rink then take off up ice at the sound of the whistle. Santana receives the outlet pass from the defender just in front of her own net mid-stride. She snaps a pass to Rachel on the left wing, arcing around her back side as Rachel carries the puck back across center ice and into the offensive zone, passing it on to a streaking Brittany down the right wing. Brittany meets the pass, attacks the net to draw the goaltender before faking a shot and finding Santana all alone on the back side of the net. The pass is crisp and perfect, cutting through the crease before redirecting off the blade of Santana’s stick and into the back of the net. Cheers erupt from multiple players scattered about the ice and those waiting in the bench area.

“You three!” Coach Taylor calls out, getting their attention as they skate slowly together back up ice, congratulating one another quickly. “Run that again!” he orders.

Rachel shrugs and skates off, and when Santana turns to Brittany, she’s smiling like she knew this would happen all along.


End file.
